


All That I Want

by tinsnip



Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Deep Dish Nine, F/M, Happy, M/M, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:18:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happy Holidays, everybody! In the spirit of the season--which, for this interpretation of Deep Dish Nine, means mostly Christmas, the Gratitude Festival, and Lulli'thuf (honoured more in the breach, sadly). </p><p>Five vignettes, each involving a different twosome. The backbone for the story is provided by The Weepies' "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FsGor-NBak">All That I Want</a>". If you like it, please <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/happiness/id524042499">buy it</a>!</p><p>Very light, very schmoopy, very of-the-season. May I suggest gingerbread and eggnog laced liberally with rum as reading companions?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the kids all holler carols 'cross the water, stars that shine

_out in the harbour the ships come in, it’s Christmastime_  
 _the kids all holler carols ‘cross the water, stars that shine_  
 _all that i want_

* * *

“Keiko? Keiko!”

He hurried through the crowd of half-frozen people, all unidentifiable in mittens and hats. All around him was puffed breath, misting the air, and his own panting exhalations drifted behind him as he hurried. _Dammit, dammit, dammit, don_ _’t spill the cocoa—_

“Keiko!”

“Here!”

Oh, there she was, waving from up near the front. Trust her to get them a good spot. He angled towards her, elbowing his way through the crowd—gently, of course, because cocoa and crowds didn’t mix. When he reached her, she grinned up at him, all red cheeks, and he bent and kissed her.

“Brr. Chilly cheeks.”

“Warm me up, why don’t you?”

He handed her one of the cups. “Have I missed anything?”

“Not a thing. Somebody lost a mitten, that was a bit dramatic, but other than that, not much going on.” She slurped, then looked at her cup appraisingly. “That’s good.”

“Nothing better than hot cocoa on a cold winter’s night.”

“How about hot cocoa on the couch at home?”

“Mmm. All right. Maybe one thing better.” He grinned down at her and took a slug of his own chocolate. Mmm, that _was_ good: milky-sweet and just a touch too hot, just enough to burn his mouth. The cup warmed his hands through his mittens, and steam drifted up through the little hole in the lid.

“This must bring back memories for you.”

“Bad ones.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her tone. “C’mon. Don’t you ever miss it? Even a little?”

“Not for a second.” Keiko’s voice was firm, and Miles chuckled. “The undergrads are much better behaved than the fourth-graders ever were. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Didn’t I tell you about frosh week? I swear, every year they top themselves. This year they—hey, wait!” Here was a teacher-type person, scurrying out into the snow-drifted bandshell, exuding _frazzled_. “Looks like they’re starting.”

“Uh… already?”

Keiko glanced at him. “What do you mean, ‘already’? It’s five after seven. If I _was_ running this, it would have started on time.”

“Right, right, of course.” He nodded, agreeing far more enthusiastically than Keiko’s comment warranted, and she blinked, then smiled.

“Nervous, Miles?”

“Um.” It was a bit stupid. He’d been in situations a hell of a lot more frightening than this and come out all right, and yet his heart was pounding. He leaned close to Keiko, purely so she could hear him better, not at all for support.

“How do you think she’ll do?”

“If she doesn’t know _Rudolph_ off by heart by now, it’s not our fault.” She bumped up against him reassuringly, and his hot chocolate sloshed on to his mitten. He sucked at it, half for hygiene, half for comfort.

Now the teacher stood in the middle of the stage, waving for the crowd’s attention. The rippled murmuring of several hundred chilly parents faded to a dull roar.

“Good evening, parents! Thank you for attending the Zefram Cochrane Elementary School holiday concert! The students have worked very hard to put on a good show, so let’s give them a big round of applause!”

He snagged his cup between clenched teeth and dutifully banged his mittens together. Keiko stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly. A multi-talented woman, his wife; even in the middle of a nervous fit, he could admire that.

“Thank you! First up, we have our junior and senior kindergarten classes, with Mister Pralis Rem leading them in _My Very First Bat_ _’leth!”_

Out they came, a tiny troop of round faces over colourful snowsuits, and their teacher did his best to chivvy them into a line. Tinny music played from the bandshell speakers, and the tots launched into their performance.

It was horrible. Which was fine, and not at all a harbinger of things to come. After all, that wasn’t his little girl’s class, was it. They couldn’t expect to benefit from her perfect pitch. Even Julian said she had an excellent voice, and Julian, despite being an idiot who made _really bad_ life choices, was a good judge of a tune. That had to be worth something, didn’t it?

“Miles, don’t bite your mitten.”

“Sorry.”

When the din ended, he clapped and made the appropriate approving noises as the tots were shepherded off, but all he could hear was the blood roaring in his ears. _Next up. It_ _’s her. She’s next._

“It’s going to be fine. Relax.” Keiko was rubbing his shoulder. He snuck a sideways look at her, not quite wanting to turn away from the stage. She was smiling.

“You’re nervous too, right? It’s not just me, is it?”

“I’m terrified.” Also a very sarcastic woman, his wife.

“I just—I just want her to do _well._ _”_

“She’ll do fine. And she’ll have a good time. And no matter how she sounds, we’ll tell her she was amazing. Don’t _worry._ _”_ Now Keiko squeezed his shoulder a bit harder than was exactly necessary. He leaned into it. “She’s an O’Brien. She’s _tough._ _”_

He laughed. “Couldn’t tell it by me right now.”

She bumped up against him again, harder this time, and patted his shoulder. “You said it, not me. Shh. They’re coming out.”

Again the teacher, bellowing out into the night: “Please give our first-graders a big hand, along with Ms. Ksttw’k, as they sing _Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer!_ _”_

His teeth were clenched. He was trip-wire tense. Oh, God, here they came in a straggling little line, and he couldn’t help it: he closed his eyes—

—and opened them slowly, wonderingly, as he heard the class sing out.

It was awful. Really, really awful. But there she was, front-and-centre and her mother down to the bones, frowning as she shouted the lyrics, and if Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer didn’t have a very shiny nose, by God, somebody was going to hear about it.

“Oh, God. She’s great, Keiko.” Almost absently, he wrapped an arm around his wife and pulled her close. “She’s great.”

“I told you she would be.” Her voice was laughing, and Keiko leaned up against him. He spared a quick glance to smile down at her, but turned quickly to stare at the stage again. _Incredible._

“That’s our Molly. That’s our little girl.”

“Nobody else’s.”

_“—then one foggy Christmas eve Santa came to say—”_

He puffed a soft laugh, and it billowed from his lips in the frosty air, lost in the bawling of the kids and the happy mumbles of their parents. “You know, I still can’t quite believe it.”

“What can’t you believe?”

Maybe it was the haziness of the night through the drifting snow. Maybe it was the strange softness of the traffic noise on the street by the park, muffled by snow and people and the slow destruction of red-nosed reindeer. It all seemed like a sort of daydream, something he’d wake up from disoriented and downcast. Instead… “That she’s real. That _you_ _’re_ real. That I’ve got… all this.” One hand grasped Keiko’s shoulder; the other squeezed his hot chocolate, sloshing it gently in its paper cup. “Too good to be true, you know.”

“Hmm.” Keiko nuzzled into his shoulder, looked up at him. “That’s a pretty nice compliment, O’Brien. You angling for something?”

He looked down at her, pretty face and clever mind and all his.

“What could I possibly need that I haven’t got?”

That got him a grin. “Good answer.”

He bent down and kissed her nose, then turned back to the stage, one arm still tight around her; leaning into each other, they watched their daughter sing.


	2. deer might fly--why not? i met you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bajoran hara cat sourced from the [DS9 encyclopedia](http://ds9enc.www2.50megs.com/florfaun.htm).

_above the rooftops, the full moon dips its golden spoon_  
 _i wait on clip-clops, deer might fly—why not? i met you_  
 _all that i want_

* * *

At first, when she saw him, she didn’t believe her eyes. But only one person she knew walked like that, like he was pretty sure the world had just committed some kind of heinous crime, and if he just watched carefully enough he’d catch it in the act. She grinned, shook her head, cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted.

“Hey, Constable! Peldor joi!”

He stopped in his tracks and turned, surprised, as she jogged to catch up to him, boots crunching in the snow. By the time she’d reached him, he looked much more typically Odo: blank as hell. His eyes looked happy, though.

“Peldor joi to you too, Manager. I didn’t expect to see you here.” His gruff voice was friendly, and she smiled up at him.

“And I didn’t expect to see you. Doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.” She gestured at the blinking lights around them.

He tilted his head. “Mmm. It usually wouldn’t be, but… this year I thought I’d see what the community was up to. I spend so much time patrolling through Little Bajor…”

“…and so little time actually living here?” She grinned at him, and he inclined his head, agreeing.

“So I thought I’d go out and try a few things. Be cultural. Try to determine what everyone else sees in it.” He sounded a little bit exasperated. It was kind of cute.

“And how’re you doing so far?”

“So far?” He looked around him, looked back at her, and she laughed. “Right. Never mind.”

The light display was pretty pathetic. It hadn’t changed much in years. There were always the same displays: a little Celestial Temple, flickering blue, lights moving in patterns so that it seemed to open and close. A prayer mandala, swathes of red and orange moving over it. The silhouette of B’hala, or what was supposed to be B’hala: at this point, with half the lights burnt out, it was kind of an abstract shambles of shapes. And then a collection of junk, donated or left over from somebody else’s celebration, Bajoran or otherwise. It was a mess. But she kind of liked it that way. It was turning into a fixed part of Little Bajor’s Gratitude Festival traditions: first, burn your scroll. Second, eat your stupidly huge meal. Third, go out for a wander under the huge winter full moon, and more often than not find yourself at the stupid crappy light display, freezing your ass off and wishing you were back home, getting drunk with your friends.

That was probably where she should be: over at Shakaar’s, celebrating with him and Lupaza and Furel and everybody. It was getting kind of late, and the wind was blowing straight through her coat…

But Odo looked kind of lonely, walking by himself like that.

_He likes being by himself. You know that._

Still, right in the middle of the Gratitude Festival? That just seemed… wrong.

She made up her mind in an instant, and turned back to him with a smile.

“Mind if I walk with you?”

“I’m… sorry?”

“You’re alone, I’m alone. We should walk the path together.”

He blinked at her, and his gloved hands worked. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“What part of walking with you is supposed to inconvenience me?”

“I mean… if you’re meeting friends, or…”

He was perceptive. Too perceptive. “Odo. You _are_ my friend. Now walk with me, damn it.”

He looked at her for a moment, then smiled, and she grinned back at him. “That’s more like it. Come on, let’s see what crap they’ve added this year.”

 _Crap_ was the word. The organizers had managed to scrounge up a few more displays, and so they strolled their way past little animated carollers with burnt-out eyes; past a Surak who raised one eyebrow because that was all he had; past a Santa Claus trapped in a perpetual half-wave; past eight tiny reindeer that pretended to soar into the night, only to tumble back down again just as they seemed about to lift off.

They stopped to watch that one for a little while. She couldn’t help but grin at it. Next to her, she heard Odo chuckle, and that got her laughing too.

“Prophets, that’s sad.”

“It is, isn’t it.”

The fat little reindeer reached the top of their leap, then clunked back down, and it set them both off again, her outright laughing, him chuckling almost to himself, that tiny laugh that always felt like a reward.

She found herself sneaking a little sideways glance at him, curious. _Why_ _’s it so hard to make you laugh, Constable?_

As if he felt her eyes on him, he turned and looked back at her. He opened his hands: _what?_

Uh. What indeed. She fumbled for words, came up with: “Festival’s not really living up to your expectations, huh?”

Odo looked back at the reindeer. Again they leapt for the sky; again they toppled. He frowned a bit. “Somehow, I thought there'd be more to it.”

“What, more than a crappy light display?”

“Everyone always seems so excited about the Festival. All it ever means to me is more drunks to drag to the tank.” He shrugged, and she made a face.

“That sounds like an awful way to spend the holidays.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad. I enjoy my work.”

She looked at him, and he was dead serious. _Right._

“This isn’t _all_ there is to the Festival, you know.”

He flicked a look at her, slightly irritated. “I’m aware of that.”

“Well, what else do you have planned? How is Odo Ital going to celebrate his Gratitude Festival?”

“I… don’t know.” Irritation faded back into _blank,_ and she blinked.

“Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately.”

That was really, really sad. Both in the _pathetic_ way and in the _kind of depressing_ way. “How about family? Are you going to see your family?”

“I… don’t have any family here.” His eyes flicked down and away, and she realized she’d said the wrong thing. _Um_ _…_

It just didn’t seem right to leave him all by himself. So strange, but there it was: he was taller than her, bigger than her, tough as nails and she _knew_ that, but… Right at that moment, he seemed about two years old, lonely and sad, and saying “Well, goodnight!” and leaving was just completely out of the question.

_Nobody’ll mind. It’ll be fine. Besides, it’s the Gratitude Festival. Burn your worries, Nerys._

Okay, then. Surreptitiously, she took a deep breath, then smiled at him. “Neither do I. Why don’t you celebrate with me?”

He blinked at her.

“Come on.” Sometimes talking to Odo felt like trying to lure a hara cat. “Let’s go do something else. Something _inside._ We’ll get coffee or something. What do you say?”

“I wouldn’t want to take up your evening.” That was pure Odo, and she tilted her head in mild exasperation.

“What _is_ it with you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s the Gratitude Festival. Burn your worries already.”

He blinked at her again, and she wanted to shake him.

“Quit worrying about ‘taking up my evening’ and just come and have coffee. You want to understand the Gratitude Festival? It’s about appreciating the good things you have in your life. Especially the people. So come and have coffee with me and we’ll appreciate each other.”

He stared at her. _Oh, Prophets, now what did I say? Maybe this was a bad idea_ _…_ Embarrassment flipped to irritation, and she huffed a sigh.

“Look, if you don’t want to, it’s fine. I just thought—”

“No. No, Kira, I’d… I’d like that. To have coffee. With you.” He was half-stammering. _Prophets_ _’ door._ Hard to believe this was the same guy she’d once seen take down two looters with his bare hands, the same guy who kept order in his small part of Little Bajor just by being everywhere at once. It was irritating. It was also kind of endearing, and she found herself smiling.

“Good. Great. Let’s go.” She turned to go—

“Wait, Kira—”

Oh, slithering _Prophets!_ She spun back, irritated. “What is it _now?_ _”_

His eyes were mild. “I was just going to say that there happens to be a raktajino bar two blocks that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction she’d been aiming, and she felt like an asshole. It wasn’t fair to shout at him. Odo was Odo. _You knew what you signed up for when you asked him._

“Sorry, Odo.”

He shrugged. “It’s all right. I know you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s just that…” He seemed almost apologetic. “Well, you get very irritable when you’re hungry.”

Now it was her turn to stare. She frowned. “I’m not hungry.”

Another shrug. “If you say so.” He tilted his head. “You know, they serve food at the raktajino bar. They even have hasperat.”

Suddenly her mouth was watering.

“You don’t say.” She found herself smiling, and Odo’s little smile in return was pretty damned cute, actually.

“I think you might know me a little too well, Constable.”

He harrumphed, and she matched his little smile with a full-out grin.

“All right. Lead the way.”

They walked together through the crisp, snowy night, the full moon shining brightly down on them, and the people passing them laughed and shouted and sang celebration into the night. Incense glowed in the burners on the street corners, and its scent wafted past; she sniffed the air and grinned.

“It’s unusual to meet a non-Bajoran who likes hasperat.”

“That sounds right to me. I don’t like it at all.”

That made her smile. “But you remembered they have it?”

“It caught my eye, is all.”

“Huh.” She nodded. “Well, if you’re going to be cultural, maybe you should try it again. It’s a traditional dish, you know.”

“Hmph.”

“And then after we eat, if you want,” deep breath, “there’s a party. I’m going. You can come too if you want.”

“A… party.” He didn’t exactly sound thrilled by the prospect.

“Yeah. Just a few friends: Shakaar, Lupaza, Furel… heh, you remember them, huh?”

Odo was shaking his head, smiling a little. “The old gang, together again. Will you be finishing your evening with any destruction of property? Perhaps some arson to brighten the night?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Hey. We’re the good guys now.”

“If you say so…”

“I promise we throw better parties than the Cardassians ever did, anyway.”

He slid her a look, and she laughed. “Let me guess. You hate parties.”

“Hmph.”

“Well, you should come to this one. You never know. You might have fun.”

“I doubt it.” His voice was more of a growl than anything else. She tilted her head. _My turn to tease._

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the life of the party.”

That got her a look of disbelief, changing slowly to a smile as he saw her laughing.

“Come on, Odo.” He was walking his standard policeman’s pace, a little too slow for such a chilly night. “Hurry up.”

Damn, there went the smile again, dropping right off his face. “Forgive me. I don’t want to make you late for your party. Perhaps…” He looked around him, as if hunting out an avenue of escape. “Perhaps we should forget about coffee for now—”

Aargh, and that was simply and finally it. Inside Kira Nerys, something snapped.

 _“Prophets,_ Odo, I’m _cold_ and I’m _hungry_ and you need to get a _move_ on before I knock you out and _drag_ you, let’s _go!_ _”_ Irritated, she grabbed his arm and towed him along after her as she picked up her pace. “And I don’t want to hear any more out of you about skipping coffee or wasting my time or _anything!_ I _like_ you, damned if I know why, and I’m _glad_ I ran into you tonight, and I _want_ you to come for coffee and _then_ to the party because it will be _fun,_ do you _understand_ me?”

Silence for a second, and the crunching of big boots in snow, then…

“Understood.” With laughter in his voice, and she couldn’t help but smile into the night.

“All right. Let’s go, Constable.”

“Yes, Manager.”


	3. and when the night is falling down the sky at midnight

_and when the night is falling down the sky at midnight_  
 _another year is stalling, far away a goodbye, goodnight_  
 _all that i want_

* * *

“Have fun at the party. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Um, right. How about I don’t do anything you _would_ do? That way I won’t end up dead in a ditch.”

“Jealous much?”

“As if, slut.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

“Okay, give me a hug,” and Ezri leaned over and wrapped her up in a leather-jacket squeeze. “See you later!”

“See you, Zee. Keep safe.”

“Will do. Later, losers!”

The door slammed behind Ezri, her jacket, and her Cheshire-cat grin, leaving Jadzia with an upraised middle finger and a sense of vague wistfulness.

_I wish I was her._

_no, you don_ _’t, dear,_ chided Audrid. _now turn around and be nice to your fellow._

 _booo-ring,_ groaned Torias, and right at this particular moment she kind of agreed with him, but acting like Torias usually just pissed everybody off. _worked for me,_ said Torias with slight irritation; _no, it didn_ _’t,_ chided Lela, and Jadzia ignored them both in favour of turning back to Worf and smiling gamely.

“So if you don’t want to go to the party, what _do_ you want to do?”

Worf was looking past her to the apartment door. She followed his gaze, looked back at him. “What?”

“I am not sure you are a good influence on her.”

Really? Was this how the evening was going to go? “I hope I’m not. She could use a few bad influences.”

“She seems more brash than usual.”

 _that was nothing,_ grinned Curzon, _remember last week?_

Jadzia did remember, and did not grin, because it would have been inappropriate. “Oh, that’s just Zee. You never know what you’re gonna get with her.” _and neither does she,_ sighed Emony quietly.

Worf harrumphed and looked around the apartment disapprovingly. She frowned.

“What?”

“It is three days until Christmas and you have not even begun to decorate.”

Okay, now they were off Ezri and on to Jadzia’s poor life choices, great. She looked around. Things _were_ kind of bare, actually. The little Lulli’thuf firepot was sitting in the corner of the room, ready for embers, but aside from that…

“I guess you’re right.” She shrugged. “I’m not that into it.”

“I am surprised.”

“What, do I seem like the Christmas-y type?”

He gave her a _don_ _’t shit me_ look. “Jadzia, when Hallowe’en arrived, you wore a skeleton mask for an entire day, and you ate nothing but candy.”

Heh. _good times,_ chuckled Emony. “That’s true, but Hallowe’en isn’t Christmas.”

“I fail to understand the difference. They are both holidays. Both involve decorations and food.”

“But Hallowe’en is fun. Christmas isn’t.”

Worf frowned. “I do not understand.”

Now how much of this did she actually want to get into? “There’s just all this pressure. You’ve got to have a good time and buy people things, and that’s fun, but mostly all anyone does is fight.”

“There is nothing wrong with a good fight.”

“Not the fun kind of fighting. The other kind.” Mom. Dad, when he’d been around. Her brothers, her other sister, all in a big fat wrangle, and quiet little Jadzia sitting next to quiet little Ezri, both just trying to get through without being noticed. _never worked, did it,_ said Tobin, just as quietly, and her mind echoed.

Worf was watching her face and not saying much of anything, but Worf’s silences could be pretty damned loud. _Don_ _’t be such a bummer, Jadzia._ “Sorry, Worf.” She gave him her best grin. “Not a big fan of Christmas, that’s all. Feels better to just let it slip on by.”

His back straightened. Damn. “I am surprised at you.”

She blinked once. That was his warning. “Really.”

“Yes. One must confront one’s enemy. Not hide from it and hope that it does not see you.”

Hold on, this wasn’t where she’d expected this to go. “Wait, wait. You want me to ‘confront’ Christmas?”

He nodded, pleased with her. “Yes. And defeat it soundly. Then it will not trouble you again.” He leaned in, brows furrowed. “Are you up to the challenge, Jadzia Dax?”

This was stupid. Really stupid. But…

 _sounds fun, doesn_ _’t it?_ laughed Curzon.

“You bet I am,” and she smiled her most Klingon smile, with a Curzon assist on the snarl.

“Then victory _will_ be ours.” His smile in return was snaggle-toothed and fierce. Suddenly he was pushing himself up from the couch, turning and extending a hand to her. She looked up at him.

“Come!”

“Where are we going?”

“To gather our weapons.”

* * *

“Okay, I think we probably didn’t need to buy the _entire_ dollar store—”

“It is good to have a variety of weapons to choose from. One never knows what vulnerability the enemy may have.”

“But this is really obnoxious. And kind of kitschy.” She held up the felt snowman with dangly spring legs, bounced it once or twice, heard a chorus of snickers in her head.

“Good. The enemy will know we mock it and will fear our laughter.”

“Yeah, Christmas should be scared, all right.” The van made its slightly worrying _ka-chunk_ as Worf pulled left, and she patted the door absently as Torias cooed to it, _darling defiant, don_ _’t fuss, don’t fuss…_

“We will also require supplies.”

“I have food back at the apartment—”

“You do not have what we will need.” He was driving with a slightly scary grin, brows bristling, focus complete.

“Oh, God.” She leaned back in her seat, rubbing her eyes. “Where are we going _now?_ _”_

* * *

“Okay, I’ve got it all—I think—”

“Very well—do not buckle—be strong—”

They staggered up the stairs under the weight of a myriad plastic bags of gimcrack and candy and one goddamned irritating box of tiny oranges. Garland kept snaking its way out of one of her bags and trying its best to twine around her feet, making her wobble dangerously. “I’m going to fall and die.”

“Then Christmas will have won.”

“Can’t have that.” She yanked at the garland, nearly dropping everything else in the process. “You managing okay?”

She heard him snarl behind her, and grinned. “Santa giving you problems?”

“Perhaps you were correct in your desire to leave him behind.”

“He’s kind of huge. And kind of ugly.”

“He will intimidate our foe.”

“He sure as hell intimidates _me._ _”_ Okay, here was the landing, now if she could just—yeah, she could manage the door. Barely. “Come on, I’ve got it—”

He shouldered past, nodding thanks. “We must begin immediately. There is no time to waste.”

“It’s only December 22nd—”

“The enemy’s siege has already begun!” He stopped dead in the hallway and turned back to her, eyes wide, teeth bared, exhilarated with the prospect of battle. “We must meet its attack head-on or risk annihilation!”

 _why do you put up with this?_ asked Emony, and Curzon said _because it_ _’s amazing,_ which was one hundred percent true.

“Sir, yes, sir!” She dropped her bags at the door to fire off a salute, which Worf accepted with a smile.

Her key was always fiddly. “Hold on, I’ve got it…”

“I must return to my apartment for a short time.”

“What… you’re leaving me alone with _this?_ _”_ She gestured at the pile of crap surrounding her, spilling all over the damn hallway.

“Call upon your warrior’s soul, Jadzia Dax. The wait will be worth it.”

* * *

“It’s not really Silent Night if you blare it at full volume, is it?”

“It is the spirit of the thing that counts.” He nodded at her brusquely and started sticking branches in the tree frame as if it had personally offended him, then paused, frowning. "Hmm. These are not properly labelled."

She watched him, hands full of tiny orange peels, and grinned.

"Why are you amused?"

She dropped the little peels on the table beside the couch, then leaned over. “It’s just kind of cute to see a Klingon who’s so into Christmas.”

“Is it so unusual?”

“Well, yeah,” and Curzon nodded agreement. “I mean, is Christmas even a thing in the Empire?”

“Ah. Well, there I am an exception.” Now he crouched down, settling himself comfortably among the pokey plastic branches, and began to sort them, outer versus inner.

“You usually are.”

“You have noticed. Good.” She couldn’t help but grin at that. “I was raised in the Federation.”

“Really? Where?”

“Gault colony. Very small. Mostly farmers. It is a good place. Later, Terra.” Tree branches were being stuck into the frame with vigour. “And my family was very much ‘into Christmas.’”

“This is so weird.”

“Really, Jadzia Dax? You are surprised that I am not what I appear to be?”

She pursed her lips. “Point.”

He nodded, then frowned. “Jadzia.”

“What?”

“You have not touched your eggnog.”

Damn, he’d noticed. “Sorry, Worf. I don’t like eggnog.”

“You will like it the way I make it.”

He’d brought back a jug of the stuff, apparently assembled from their last-minute grocery run, and her stomach had flipped over as soon as she’d realized what it was. Why couldn’t it be a Klingon seasonal delicacy? She _liked_ Klingon food. Eggnog was all eggy and fatty and yech. “I really don’t—”

“Jadzia.” Beetle brows. “Drink.”

Bleah. “Fine. 'IwlIj jachjaj.” She gulped it, and her tongue exploded.

“Jadzia!” Worf dropped the branches and leapt to his feet, hands reaching for her shoulders as she coughed. Eyes streaming, she batted him away.

“I’m fine, I’m fine—” Most of her was going _aaaargh,_ but Curzon was making happy noises, _ooo, that_ _’s vintage!_

“God, what is this, two hundred _proof?_ _”_

“Not quite. But close.” Now he was smiling again, that little tiny mischievous Worf smile. “Do you like it?”

“I’m not sure that _like_ is a word that applies to this.” She sipped again, more cautiously, and yeah, that was almost mouthwash. “Is this Klingon eggnog?”

“It is my own variation on the recipe. It is a warrior’s drink.”

“You ain’t kiddin’.” Went down more easily with each sip, too. “Better than prune juice.”

“I do not know if I would go that far.” He frowned censoriously at the half-assembled tree, and she laughed.

“What should I be doing?”

He looked at the bags of kitsch, at the apartment, and raised his brows. “Decorate.”

“Um…” God, this was really not her thing. “I’m not really any good at—”

“Jadzia.”

“Yeah?”

“Decorate _bravely._ _”_

So bravely it was, with garland strung along the walls and hanging over the fridge, with little prickly wreaths tacked to each kitchen cupboard, with garish stick-on elves smirking from the kitchen windows and flashing lights strung around the door frames and over her bed. She dangled mistletoe over her bedroom door and grinned at the result, then stuck a sprig up over Zee’s door too; God knew the girl needed all the help she could get.

When she’d exhausted the contents of the plastic bags, she stood there in the middle of all of it, hands on her hips, and gazed around her with a critical eye.

Not bad. Not fucking bad. Certainly festive, if by _festive_ you meant _looks like there was a giant party here and nobody cleaned up._ That was actually a look she kind of liked. _good job!_ said Emony, laughing.

There was still the giant horrible plastic Santa to deal with. WITH BRITE-GLO EYES, said the tag. MADE IN FERENGINAR, yeah, no doubt there. “What do I do with this guy?”

Worf looked over from the tree and smiled fiercely. “He is our lojmit-’avwl’.”

“Him?”

“Indeed. He will watch the door when we cannot. He will warn us of our enemy’s approach, and will welcome our friends.”

Jadzia leaned the Santa up against the couch, facing the door, and plugged him in.

_“Ho ho ho! Ho ho ho!”_

“Oh, God, he’s motion-sensitive…”

“Exactly.”

She shuddered in slightly horrified appreciation, then turned back to see how Worf was managing. He’d wrestled the tree into submission and was now draping a net of lights over it with pinpoint precision. Apparently each branch had to be arranged just _so,_ and each little light could be tilted for optimum pretty.

“Are you a perfectionist in _everything_ you do?”

“Yes.” He twiddled a tiny bulb.

She plunked down on the couch, legs crossed under her, elbows on knees and chin on hands, watching him.

“The tree’s crooked.”

“It is not.”

“I think that branch is on upside down.”

“I assure you, it is perfect.”

“You’re no fun, Worf.”

“And yet you are still here.”

“Because you’re in _my_ apartment.” Ooh, here was the bag of snacks next to her, along with some stuff from Worf’s place in little tupperware containers… “What all did you grab in the candy aisle, anyway?”

“Look and find out.”

Little wiggly-looking ribbon candies. Green and red chocolate kisses. Candy canes, a shitload of them. And in the tupperware…

“Worf, is this _Christmas baking?_ _”_

“Yes. My mother’s recipe. Try the shortbread.”

“Oh, my God, I haven’t had real Christmas baking in…” _centuries?_ supplied Audrid drily, _heaven knows none of you can bake like me. doesn_ _’t count—wasn’t christmas, was lulli’thuf,_ said Lela, and Tobin ventured that _if it_ _’s sweet and you eat it at the end of the year, it’s christmas baking,_ at which point Torias told them all to shut up because they were being irritating. Meanwhile, Jadzia stuffed shortbread into her mouth and life was good.

Worf watched her, smiling his little smile, crouched at the base of the tree.

“It is good.”

“It’sh _amashing._ _”_

“Good. You must eat. You will need your strength for what is to come.”

“Oh, God, there’s _more?_ _”_

“Yes. Now we must decorate the tree and sing carols.”

She gaped at him. _“Really?”_

“It is tradition.” And there was no point arguing with that when it came to Worf, was there.

“I need strength for carols?”

“I sing very loudly. As must you.” He raised his hands, clenched his fists, breathing deeply. “We must defy our foe. We must face Christmas head-on, so that it knows we do not fear it.”

“Do we _have_ to get all Klingon about this?”

Worf’s expression was calm. “Yes.”

“Aargh.” She rubbed her face, then peered at Worf through her fingers, which netted her a little smile. “And how long do I have to howl carols?”

“Only until midnight.”

“What happens at midnight?”

“Two things. First, we will chant the nI'toqor baqto'. We will do this tonight and every night until Christmas is vanquished.”

“The upstairs neighbours are going to love that.”

“And once the nI’toqor baqto’ is complete, I am going to make love to you.”

 _eeeeee!_ squealed a variety of voices inside her head, and ordinarily she’d hush them, but she couldn’t manage it around the sudden blast of endorphins.

“You are, huh?”

“Yes, I am.”

“The upstairs neighbours will love that even more.”

“Good, because they had better get used to it.”

“Is that going to be another ‘tonight and every night’ kind of deal?”

“We shall see. It depends.”

“On…?”

“On whether you have the strength.”

She looked him straight in the eye and ate another cookie, and he grinned ferally, leaned forward, and kissed her. With teeth. Mmmm.

 _oh boy oh boy—_ said Emony, and there was a general murmur of happy anticipation, which she’d better put the kibosh on right now.

_Shut up, all of you! None of you are invited!_

Happy anticipation changed to irritated mumbling, and a sort of plaintive _presence_ from Tobin that made her smile against Worf’s mouth.

_All right. Tobin, you can stay._

_not fair!_ cried Curzon, the soul of fair play.

 _He_ never _got laid. And he_ _’s quiet. Which you are not. Now shut up—_ oh, damn, too late, Worf had pulled back and was looking at her.

“Are you arguing with your ghosts?”

“You can tell?” Oops. But he didn’t sound upset, just curious.

“Your mind is elsewhere.”

“Sorry. Don’t take it personally. You’ve gotten us all a little… excited.”

He rumbled pleasantly. “I will take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

She drew back a little and looked at him, head tilted. _strange one, isn_ _’t he?_ murmured Lela.

“You’ve never been weirded out by my ghosts at all, have you.”

“No.” Worf’s voice was quiet, his smile steady, and she found herself smiling in response.

“That’s unusual, you know. Most people I’ve dated have found them a little… intimidating.”

“Most people do not know how to appreciate a complicated woman.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“You are a challenge, Jadzia Dax. And a warrior cherishes a challenge.”

 _damn,_ i’d _fuck him,_ murmured Curzon, and there was general enthusiastic agreement, heartily seconded by Jadzia.

“That was… a really good answer.” Good enough for another kiss, mmm, but it didn’t last long: Worf pulled back and patted the ground next to him.

“Come. Sit here. Assist me in selecting the appropriate ornaments.”

She looked dubiously at the plastic bag full of shiny trinkets and tinsel and God only knew what else. “I don’t know even know what we’ve got. I didn’t really pick anything out, exactly, I just grabbed—”

“Jadzia. Aid me.”

She aided.

Between the two of them, they managed to get it looking half-decent. Well, more than half, actually. (”Where should I put…?” “Tinsel will show to best advantage on these branches.”) Little angels sang from prickly roosts. Tiny ghosts glimmered gently next to little white lights. (”Haven’t seen these since I was a kid.” “Only a Trill would put ghosts on the tree.”) Christmas balls reflected the chaos of her apartment in their coloured globes. Candy canes dangled here and there. (”Quit sneaking them. We need them for the tree.” “I am not sneaking them. I am consuming them openly.”) And perched on top was a star, glowing softly with slightly garish fibre-optic cheer. (”It’s crooked.” “It is fine.”)

When they were done, she sat beneath it and looked up at it.

It should have been ugly as hell. It was a thrown-together mess, assembled entirely from dollar-store leftovers and a “slightly imperfect” marked-down tree, shoved in the corner of a tiny apartment where Christmas was an afterthought at best.

 _it_ _’s gorgeous,_ sighed Lela, and she had to agree.

Worf crouched down behind her, wrapping his arms around her, and she snuggled back against him.

“Thanks.”

“You are welcome.” God, the man was smug. It was even worse when he had reason to be.

“Will your sister approve of our decorations?”

“Zee? She won’t care. Heh, it might surprise her, though. Remind me to text her to let her know.”

“Text her later. First, we drink and sing.” Another cup of eggnog was suddenly in her hands. She smiled down at it, feeling all kinds of warm and fuzzy. _careful,_ warned Curzon, _it_ _’ll sneak up on you… you’ll find yourself liking it!_

Well, Klingon things tended to do that to her, didn’t they. _yeah,_ sighed Curzon, _that_ _’s how it goes…_

“What do you want to sing?”

“I suggest we start with _Angels We Have Heard on High._ _”_ He smiled toothily. “The chorus is _glorious_.”

And it was. He could sing, she couldn’t really, but between them they managed to do a creditable job to all kinds of angels and reindeer and snowmen and nights both silent and otherwise. Midnight found them both fuelled by high-octane eggnog, howling out Jadzia’s bedroom window to greet the night, and the shouts of the neighbours were the perfect accompaniment. Last but certainly not least, Worf made good on his promise, which didn’t make things any quieter—unfortunately for the neighbours, fortunately for her—and what with all of it, she was fast asleep by one o’clock, wrapped around Worf, both of them smelling faintly of eggnog and candy canes and general Christmas debauchery.

And at about two o’clock…

“Hey, losers, I’m hoooo _ooooly shit!”_

_“Ho ho ho! Ho ho ho!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources for Klingon include Bing translator (shut up, it worked!), this vocab list (1), and this very informative yahoo answers session (2). It’s probably a bit of a mish mosh, and for that I apologize. Good fun, though! And hey, if any of you reading actually speak Klingon and want to correct me, please do; I’d appreciate it very much!
> 
> (1) http://www.angelfire.com/md/startrekkie1701/klindic.html  
> (2) http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20090929171504AAw6NGk
> 
> Sorry to format this so strangely, but for some reason AO3 isn't letting me link things today. Hooray!


	4. so small a turning: the world grows older every day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references events that took place in the [Rewiring series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/56431).

_so small a turning: the world grows older every day_  
 _an ache, a yearning softens when i hear you say_  
 _all that i want_

* * *

He watched him sleeping, not thinking about much.

Elim looked so much older when he slept. His face relaxed completely. It was funny: that made most people look younger, all baby-faced and a bit silly. On Elim, though… Wrinkles around his eyes, around his mouth, and a softness under his chin and along his neck that normally one didn’t really notice. Was it the way he held himself? The way he spoke? Or sheer force of personality, blasting through and eradicating all in its path?

He couldn’t see his eyes, either. Just pale eyelids and dark lashes. There were dark circles under those eyes. Poor fellow hadn’t been taking care of himself.

He smiled a bit at that. _Hell of an understatement._

 _Well, here_ _’s me to help out, then._ And if it wore him down a bit, well, that was part of it, wasn’t it. Love was a choice.

He’d never understood that before, not really. Palis had told him once, frustration in her great dark eyes, that just because something was hard didn’t mean it wasn’t worth doing. But he’d not really understood. Thanks to his father’s adoring direction, he’d been short-routed through life, succeeding constantly, and then the first time he’d come up against something that was actually _hard_ _…_

Well, he’d given up, hadn’t he. Probably to the good. Palis could certainly do much better than the likes of him, and had, by all accounts.

This, though… this was different. Elim had really seemed to like him just as he was. Not because he was clever, although that had no doubt helped. Not because he was good-looking, although that had helped too, probably. Not for charisma or sparkling repartee, thank God. Just… him. As himself. Whether that self was silly or tired or sulky or delighted or any manner of mood in between.

And then… well. Didn’t really need to think too much about that. He’d put that away, more or less. Miles had helped, and Miles was still helping.

One thing had stuck with him, though. Elim had said a few things when… mmm. And it was a bit difficult not to think that there was perhaps a bit more truth in the things he’d said that day than in anything he’d said when things were… simpler. It was hard. If he let himself think about it, it was hard.

But love was a choice. And if he walked away from something that had been good just because it had gotten difficult, well, what kind of person did that make him?

_One with half a brain, probably._

Oh, well. There were moments of little reward here and there, when he didn’t think too hard about things and just let himself be there… and this could be one right now, couldn’t it? He was warm, he was comfortable, it was a bit dark but not _too_ dark, and he was watching Elim sleep—nobody else got to do that, so that was something, wasn’t it?

An eyelid flickered, and he smiled. That was another thing nobody else got to see: the moment when Elim’s eyes fluttered open with slightly hazy confusion in them, only ever seen in the fraction of a second between sleep and—

“Mmm… still here, are you?”

—and wakefulness, yes. “Good morning to you too.”

“Mmmph… is it?”

“I imagine it is. Can’t see why it wouldn’t be.”

“And that is where you and I differ.” Elim’s eyes closed again, and he frowned against his pillow, apparently rather irritated by the entire concept of waking up. His being grumpy in the morning had stayed consistent through all the… business. Well, it couldn’t be good for one, waking up in the dark day after day…

He pursed his lips, thinking. “Have you ever thought of getting a sun lamp?”

Only Elim could glare disapprovingly with his eyes shut. “What are you babbling about?”

“Don’t be cranky.” He leaned over and kissed his forehead, and Elim submitted with a small sound of reluctant pleasure. That was another thing that was consistent: pet him and he’d purr.

“Very well… babble on…”

“You are too kind. Coffee?”

“Please.”

It had taken him a little while to figure out the coffee-maker, with one or two memorable confrontations between himself and the dreaded machine that had resulted in coffee on the walls and Elim with his hands in his hair. Eventually, though, he’d managed it, and now he operated it virtuosically, humming to himself as it generated little weird grinding noises and pleasant smells. While it worked through its cycle, he dug through the fridge for something to nibble on. Soft meat-filled rolls looked good. So did apples. Best to share, and so when he made his triumphant return to the bedroom, it was with two coffee mugs slung from index and middle finger, an apple clutched in each fist, and two rolls tucked under his chin. Really, he was rather proud of himself for not dropping any of it.

“’et these, ‘ill you?”

“Oh, dear—give me those—”

Suddenly Elim was very much more awake, because coffee on the bedsheets was a calamity of tremendous proportions. Between the two of them, they managed to wrangle the food and coffee into a semi-organized set-up on Elim’s bedside table, which suited Julian well, as now he could clamber over Elim (ignoring his protestations) and curl up next to him, with coffee _just_ within reach. Ahh…

“Are you comfortable?” Oh, so tetchy.

“Very much so, thanks. Hand me an apple.”

He crunched into it, cool and sweet and awfully nice. Elim, propped up against the bedstead, sipped his coffee and sighed deeply.

“Rough morning, is it?” He dropped the question into the air as innocently as he could. It was, of course, not remotely innocently enough.

“Yes, I am feeling the effects of withdrawal this morning, thank you for asking.” Now there was no tetchiness at all, just a sort of cool politeness which was actually much worse.

Nothing to do but plow through it. “How can I help?”

“I’m fine.” Elim’s voice was staccato, and Julian sighed.

“I’m going to ask anyway. You may as well answer; I’ll stop sooner. Headache?”

A pause, then: “Slight.”

“All right, then, I’ll get you acetaminophen. Nausea?”

“No.”

“Sore?”

“Please stop prodding at me before I’ve even gotten out of bed.”

And that was the signal to stop asking, so he slid out of bed, mug in hand, and snagged the acetaminophen from the bathroom medicine cupboard. By the time he’d gotten back to the bed, Elim was rubbing his eyes. When Julian handed him the tablets, Elim looked at him apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Julian.”

“That’s all right.”

It’d been the same dance every morning for… mmm, how many days now? How many days since everything had been blown to pieces? How many days since he’d decided to stick it out just one more day and see what happened?

About… fifty-eight. Fifty-eight one-more-days. Because love was a choice.

Time to change the subject, before he started thinking too much. “Two more days ‘til Christmas, you know.”

Elim’s face was buried in his mug again, and his voice was muffled. “Yes, I know.”

“There’s a Christmas party at the residence tonight. I’m going to go. Do you want to come with?”

Blue eyes peered at him over the rim of the mug, their expression dry.

“Didn’t think so.” He smiled at him. “Not really your crowd.”

“Not at all.” And that would’ve been true even before everything.

“Are you going to stay open full hours today?”

“Mmm, I think so. And you’re off, correct?”

He nodded.

“Good. You’ve earned it.”

And hadn’t he just, so he nodded at that too. He’d got a nice long day of _nothing_ planned. Some revision in the morning, yes, but he could do that on his couch in sock feet, perhaps with a mug of hot cocoa, and he could watch the sun make its way across the sky, could watch the people come and go, could be _by himself_ … Lovely thought, made him warm just imagining it.

Elim was watching him with a smile on his face. That was unusual for morning Elim. It was rather nice, though. “What’s got you laughing?”

“Not laughing.” Elim shook his head. “I’m simply enjoying your lovely smile.”

That… was not typical of Elim, not lately. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Um… thanks.”

Elim’s mouth quirked a bit at the corner. “You’re very welcome, my dear. Thank you for smiling. You brighten my day.” Now he leaned himself over carefully, mug held tightly in one hand and other hand bracing him against the mattress, and kissed Julian’s cheek, leaving Julian simultaneously slightly taken aback and, oh, God, blushing, _really? Blushing?_

Elim was still watching him, still not quite laughing. “Dear me. I didn’t mean to shock you.”

“Oh, you didn’t. You didn’t shock me. Sorry, I… not quite sure what, um…” God, now he really _was_ babbling. “It’s just… um…”

 _Should I?_ Not smart. Better to leave it. But he kept talking anyway.

“It’s just… you haven’t said anything like that to me in… quite some time. Um. Not that I _need_ compliments or anything, but. Um.”

Elim was staring at him, mouth slightly open, and he felt himself blush again. Silly. Completely silly, to have gotten used to the free-flowing way Elim had constantly complimented him before, sometimes backhanded, sometimes up-front and plain. It was funny to think of how it had unnerved him once, and then somewhere along the line he’d come to very much enjoy it, and then… um.

 _I didn_ _’t realize how much I missed it. How much I miss him._ Which was stupid, he was right there. _I_ _’m being stupid._

“I see.” Elim had put down his mug and had turned to face him completely, legs snugged up under him, still mostly wrapped up in sheets. He reached out and touched Julian’s thigh, stroking it gently. “Please allow me to apologize for my lack of attention.”

Was that sarcasm now? It didn’t sound like it, not exactly… God, this was embarrassing. “I don’t—that isn’t what I meant, I just…” Aargh. He ran a hand over his face. “I’m saying this wrong. Look, what I’m trying to say it that it’s nice to hear you sounding a bit more… like yourself.”

Elim’s face froze, and Julian could’ve kicked himself. _Wrong thing to say. Completely wrong._ _‘Thanks for sounding more like the person you were pretending to be.’ Crap, crap, crap._

But now Elim was smiling again, a much smaller smile, almost not a smile at all. He was looking at Julian, but Julian had the sense he was seeing something else altogether.

“Is that the way you think of me? As someone who says things that make you feel good?”

This was tricky. Suddenly there was ice under his feet, and he was picking his way along. “Um. Among other things. Sometimes you say things that make me feel completely stupid.” _Not helpful, Julian._ “Um… but you’re never _mean_ about it, and… look, you just generally make me feel good, usually,” oh, God, well, in for a penny, in for a pound, “and that’s the first time you’ve said something just really sweet to me for no reason in… um…”

“In approximately fifty-eight days?”

_Oh. He was counting too._

“Um. Yes. Approximately.”

“Ah.” The small smile was still there. “Shall we consider this a positive sign, then?”

Oh, God. _Yes_ meant _go back to how you were before_ and _no_ meant _don_ _’t compliment me_ and neither of those things were right at all. He bit his lip, then stuck with what he knew was true. “Um… I don’t know… I liked it… is that positive?”

Now Elim looked full at him, and he was very definitely looking directly _at him:_ Julian almost blushed again under his stare. “Making you feel good has always been one of my top priorities, my dear.”

Well, that settled it: yes, blushing was apparently the order of the day. Elim pursed his lips, pleased, then tutted, apparently at himself.

“You have not been blushing _nearly_ enough of late. I’ve been neglecting my responsibilities. You should have said something earlier.”

Um. “No point. You wouldn’t have heard it.” Oh, shit, what a thing to say—but he _had_ to, suddenly, without thinking at all about what it might lead to. If there was any chance of Elim hearing it, it had to be said.

Elim heard it, all right. His eyes widened, then narrowed, and he looked Julian over top to toes, searchingly. He bore up under it bravely, meeting Elim’s eyes without a flinch. _Your turn. Love is a choice._

If he hadn’t been staring at him, he’d have missed it: an infinitesimal nod, a blink. “No. No, I’m not sure I would have.” Another blink, and Elim’s eyebrows flicked up. “But I’ll listen more closely from now on.”

And Elim smiled at him, a sweet smile with eyes wide, a smile that made him look almost cherubic and dropped about ten years from his face. It was incongruous to the point of absurdity, and he was laughing before he could stop himself, a gasped chuckle that grew into something fuller when Elim smiled wider at the sound.

“If you want to make me feel good, just… smile more. Smile just like that.” God, it was lovely and silly and just exactly what he needed. “That’s excellent. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”

“I don’t know that I ever had reason to.” Still the smile, still the sweetness, and yet suddenly it wasn’t funny at all, it was perfect, and something light fluttered inside him.

“Do be careful, Julian. If you keep looking at me like that, you’re going to make _me_ blush.” Elim’s voice was almost coy, so silly, so familiar, and Julian found himself shaking his head, grinning and tipsy on endorphins and relief.

“You really are more work than you’re worth, you know.”

Elim rolled his eyes as if to say _what can I do?,_ because he was an idiot, and that was it, the last straw: Julian rolled over, cupped his face in his hands, and kissed him.

The man had always been a good kisser. That had stayed consistent. But for the first time in fifty-odd days, Julian found himself wanting to kiss him for the pure pleasure of kissing him. No obligation. No _choice._ Just really, really wanting to kiss him. And it was, indeed, pure pleasure. Aside from the mutual coffee-breath.

When he pulled back, Elim was smiling, wide-eyed. “My goodness.”

“Mmm.” His heart was thrumming in his chest, revelatory.

“It’s a pity I have to open the shop.”

“Isn’t it, though? And me with all day off and nothing to do.”

“How very disappointing.”

“You’ll have to make it up to me.” They were flirting. Were they flirting? God, they hadn’t flirted in—

“Tell me how. You have me in a very pliant mood.” Elim’s voice dipped low, all kinds of insinuating, oh, God, his head was spinning, and he grinned.

“There is one thing.”

“Oh, please do tell.”

“You’ll be sorry you asked.”

“I generally am. Tell me anyway.”

Well, there was nothing for it then. _Into the valley of death_ _…_ “Christmas Eve dinner.”

“Go on.”

“Miles and Keiko.”

There went the silly smile. There went just about any expression at all, in fact. Elim looked at him blankly. “You’re not serious.”

“I am. We’re invited.” Which they were, through Miles’s _what the hell_ query and Keiko’s enthusiastic confirmation. Mostly Julian. But Elim too. Miles had rubbed his eyes, frowning, then: _bring him, Julian,_ he’d said, _but don_ _’t tell him I said so._

Elim was clearly still flattened. “Whose idea was this?”

“Does it matter?”

A few rapid blinks now, bubbling to the surface of the blankness like bubbles in a pool. “I’m… surprised.”

“Are you? I didn’t think much surprised you.”

“These days, it seems that everything does. I’m not paying nearly enough attention.” Elim ran a hand back through his hair, frowning, staring at nothing much. “Dinner. Really.”

“Really.”

He brought his cup to his lips and sipped, wide-eyed, then flicked a glance at Julian. “Will you think less of me if I tell you that I would rather be locked in a small room without windows than go to that dinner?”

About what he’d figured, but… “Oh, you can tell me anything you like. It’s what you choose to do that counts.” He held his breath.

Elim closed his eyes and sipped coffee again, hunkering down into the quilt. His answer, when it came, was more of a sigh than anything else. “What time do we need to be there?”

Julian kissed his cheek.


	5. and when the cold wind’s blowing, snow drifts through the pine trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The concept of Kasidy Yates as a long-haul trucker originated with [Vyc](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyc/pseuds/Vyc), and was too perfect not to use. Thank you, dear!

_and when the cold wind’s blowing, snow drifts through the pine trees_  
 _in houses lights are glowing, likewise in your eyes that find me here_  
 _with all that i want_

* * *

“Okay, Dad. Ready to go when you are.”

He smiled at his son, standing tall by the door. Too tall. When had that happened, anyway?

“I’ve got a few more things to do here, Jake-o. Why don’t you head back and start getting everything ready?”

Yeah, he’d guessed right: Jake looked longingly at the door, then back at him, conflicted. “You sure?”

He nodded. “Very sure. Besides, you probably want to take a little extra time to make sure the appetizers are just right. What with Ziyal coming.”

That made Jake grin and duck his head. “Dad…”

Heh. “Yeah, yeah. Get going. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay. See you in a bit.” Jake threw him a teenage sort of wave and let cold air in and himself out, the door chime _ding-ling_ ing as the door closed after him.

Ben stood in the darkened restaurant, smiling to himself, and looked around him. Night had fallen at about four-thirty—typical for mid-winter—and the dining room was lit only by the Christmas lights they’d strung around the windows. They flashed, flickering through their colours, and he watched as the chairs and tables and gratitude scrolls were lit up: green, red, green, red.

 _Huh._ He smiled to himself, suddenly amused. _Look at that. I_ _’m comfortable here._

He knew the place cold. Every table, every chair, every oven; the stove in the back with the one burner that O’Brien kept having to fiddle with, the deep sinks waiting for dishes, the linoleum that always curled up, the Cardassian security system that—thank the Prophets—had decided not to act up for the last little while…

_When did this lousy little plaza restaurant start to feel like home?_

He never got to spend time here alone. It was very strange—a little too quiet. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been here and heard only quiet. Usually he was the one to open up, but Kira got there around the same time he did, and it was never quiet when Kira was around. And mornings were different from nights. Mornings had coffee and conversation and sunlight and traffic. Nights had… not much of anything.

Tonight there wasn’t even anyone closing up with him. He’d let everyone else duck out early with smiles and hugs and _happy holidays_ all around. Tonight was Christmas Eve, and what with the Gratitude Festival matching up this year, well… things were slow. No point making everyone sit around staring at each other when they could be home with their families…

He puffed out a breath.

_Jennifer._

He missed her. He always missed her. But he missed her most in the silences, in the quiet he’d once tried so hard to avoid. It had started to feel more comfortable, now.

He explored it tentatively, poking at the memories, waiting for the wince.

_Would you have liked this place?_

It was hard to imagine her being happy working at a restaurant. She’d probably have gone off to do her own thing, the way she always did. She’d have dropped by sometimes, though, to snag lunch and kiss his cheek… and she’d have been there when he got home, maybe on the couch next to Jake, the two of them bent over some project…

Ah. There was the wince. He pressed his lips together. _Stop it._

Maybe staying out of the quiet was a good idea after all. He was getting melancholy, standing here in the dark by himself. What would his father say? _Get around people,_ he’d say, _people will keep your head on straight._ Good advice.

Tonight, though… there was something very appealing about the silence.

He pulled a chair out from a table and sat down slowly, settling himself, letting his body loosen up. The afternoon had been busy, at least: lots of take-out, lots of last-minute shoppers filling their bellies. Now his legs were sore, his joints ached. _I_ _’m getting old._

Outside, traffic buzzed by, more sparse than usual. Well, it was Christmas Eve, after all. Most people were already where they needed to be. The snow was starting to pick up, too… the roads weren’t really safe for driving. It was a good thing the apartments were only a parking lot away. Even that short walk was going to leave him with wet feet. _Hope Jake-o remembers to wipe his boots._ He really didn’t want to deal with slush in the living room again.

Heh. Jake was so excited. He smiled, thinking about his son’s face, how his grin made him look about five years old. It didn’t seem possible that he’d grown up so quickly. He seemed to be doing more or less all right… his grades were mid-range, but Ben remembered being less than enthusiastic about school himself, once upon a time… besides, those stories of his were really something… and his taste in girlfriends seemed sound. Ziyal was a sweet girl. No problem at all there. Well, one problem. He wasn’t thrilled about her father, but there wasn’t much he could do about that… _and at least I don_ _’t have to have_ him _over for dinner._ Dukat had apparently had his own Christmas function to attend, thank the Prophets for small mercies.

No, Ziyal was fine. She brought out the best in Jake. He liked her.

“You’d like her too.” He spoke aloud to empty air. “She’s smart. She’s a talented artist. And Jake worships the ground she walks on.”

Nothing answered him, and he nodded to himself. _All right. Time to go._

He rapped his fingers on the table and pushed his chair back, standing up. Better just duck back into the kitchen, make sure everything was off that needed to be, then he could lock up and—

“You guys closed? Or can a woman get something to eat around here?”

Suddenly the kitchen didn’t matter at all, as he spun on his heel, eyes wide, grin wider. _Really?_

“Kasidy!”

“The very same.” She stood at the door, peering in, engulfed in her down winter jacket and baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. “Didn’t realize you were gonna close up early.”

This was amazing. This was incredible. “For you, we’re always open. Come in, come in!”

Cold air blew in with her, but that didn’t really matter: she was a warm armful, and she squeezed him tightly. He closed his eyes and revelled in her, how small she was, how strong.

When she let go, she smiled up at him, her broad, calculating grin. “Seems like you’re happy to see me.”

“I am _delighted._ _”_

“Heh.” She tilted her head. “It’s good to see you too.”

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight. I thought you said there was no way you could make it back in time.” He pulled out a chair for her, gesturing: _sit!_

“I almost didn’t.” She flopped down, nodding thanks, and stuck her legs out in front of her. They were snowy up to the knees. “Got stuck near Ruk’vaht and had to flag for a tow-out. I’m lucky there are some good folks working out that way.”

“Where’s your truck?”

“Out the back.” She pointed lazily past him, vaguely kitchen-ward. “Hope that’s all right. Figured your customers might not be wild about me taking up six parking spots.” Her eyes were sly.

“For you, we’d make the room.” He grinned at her, and she grinned back. Prophets, this was great. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I actually haven’t, but don’t warm up the ovens just for me.” She sighed and stretched. “For now, I’m good just sitting here. Feels good to be sitting on anything that isn’t a driver’s seat.”

“I bet. Long haul?”

“The longest. Out past Trill, almost, then back around through Tellar, which is always a pain in the ass.” She took off her cap and tossed it on the table, mussing her hair with the other hand. “I’ve been driving for about twelve hours straight.”

He shook his head sympathetically. “You must be hurting.”

“I’m long past hurting. I’m numb.” She rolled her eyes owlishly, and he laughed, looking at her. _It takes that woman about ten seconds to brighten my day._ How did she do it? _Does it matter?_

A thought… huh. Why not? “Look, if you haven’t eaten, why not come back to my place?”

She eyed him, and he waved his hands. “No, nothing like that. It’s Christmas Eve. My son and I are having dinner.” Now her brows went up, and he sighed, exasperated. “No, you won’t be intruding. His girlfriend’s invited.”

“So you should bring yours, is that it?” Brows still up, but smiling now, and maybe she was warming to the idea…?

“Well, if you’re going to put it _that_ way…” He raised his brows, and she laughed.

She still wasn't quite sure, though. “Jake won’t mind?”

“Jake likes you. Besides, he’ll have Ziyal there. Trust me, he won’t notice anything else.”

That got another laugh out of her, and a slow nod. “All right. You’ve talked me into it.”

“Good. Come on, I’ll lock up.”

She grabbed her hat from the table as she stood, and spun it on one finger as she waited by the door for him to finish his last-minute check of the place.

“Ship-shape?”

“Looks good.” He reached past her, tapped in the security code, and gestured to the door. “After you.”

“Such a gentleman.”

As he turned the key in the door, he smiled at her. She smiled back at him. “You sure it's okay for me to just drop in?"

"Any time, Kasidy. You don't even have to knock."

“You always know the right things to say, Ben.”

“My father would be proud to hear it. May I?” He offered her his arm, and she stared at it and up at him, grinning.

“Might not want to treat me like a lady. I’ll get used to it.”

“That’s the plan.”

She made a pleased little _oooh_ sound and took his arm, gloved fingers wrapping around his jacket sleeve, and it felt good. Really good.

_You’d like her too, Jennifer._

Still nothing from the night, but that was fine, because next to him Kasidy was whistling to herself as she walked. He listened for a second, smiled, picked up the tune.

“…please have snow and mistletoe…”

She stopped whistling and laughed up at him. “Good ear.”

“And you haven’t even heard me sing.”

“Be still my heart. What surprises _will_ this night hold?” Her voice was teasing.

“Hey, if we get enough eggnog into you, you’ll be singing too.”

She laughed, and he smiled, he couldn’t help it. She made him want to smile. “I’m glad you made it. I thought you were going to hole up in a motel somewhere until the storm blew over.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her nod. “That was the plan.”

“What changed?”

She shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to be home for Christmas.”

A warm little shock went through him, and he blinked for a second, swallowing. When he spoke, he kept his voice light. “Home, huh?”

That got him a side-eye look. “Don’t push it, Ben.”

Right. Too soon, much too soon. “That’d be a big step.”

“A very big step.”

“Tell you what. As long as you let me feed you, anything else you want is fine by me.”

“Huh.” She looked up at him speculatively, then sighed and snuggled up against him, and he slipped an arm around her and pulled her close.

“Like I said, Ben… always the right thing to say.”

They walked on together across the parking lot, footsteps crunching in the snow. The wind was blowing cold tonight, and their breath puffed up, mixing together, blowing away almost before he saw it gusting white. He listened to the wind’s rush, to the little sounds of Kasidy’s breathing, to their coats making winter-coat noises, to the cars humming by. There was no one else outside, no one else walking or talking or laughing or making any of the sounds the city always rang with. _Seems like the city_ _’s holed up for the night._ Getting ready for Christmas, probably. Soon he would be too. But for now, for this little moment, it was just the two of them, and…

“Listen.”

“What?”

“It’s so quiet.”

“Mmm.”

* * *

_with all that i want, all that i want_

_—the weepies,_ _“all that i want”_


End file.
